Harry Potter red carpet…I can’t even

Less than 24 hours to red carpet time and I haven’t even shaved my legs. I let Jeremy off the hook and he’s not going to the “opening”. He doesn’t want to. I don’t blame him, it’s been a hard ride, and I don’t have to make him. I just want to see the Harry Potter again. You guys, it really is that good.

But it’s not really opening, the reviews already came out, it’s a smashing success, because The Cursed Child is amazing theatre. This is just the scheduled red carpet event with the after party.

At a hotel in Kings Cross.

Natch.

And so I’ll dress up and I’ll walk on the red carpet and represent all the amazing work my husband did and there are going to be a ton of famous people there and, la di da. But fuck that, I’m not even getting my nails done.

We leave London (hooray!) the following morning for a two-week vacation, which in and of itself would be reason enough to be freaking out about not being home the entire day the day before we leave, but on top of that I have to move the five months of stuff out of here that we’re not bringing on vacation.

So I’ve packed again, for two different things. Breaking down the home here and shoving it in to 50# or less suitcases to be stored in a basement WHILE simultaneously packing for a two week vacation in France with one 50# bag and 7 carry ons.

I’m not kidding.

So I’m a little distracted, and I know Harry Potter is having it’s big thing and I’m really excited to see it and be a part of the whole deal, but I’m most looking forward to our amazing dinner reservation in between the shows.

And also I’m worrying like, do I bring a tote for my change of shoes. I have to. I’ll break my neck for sure, or twist my ankle and be laid up for the whole vacation. Shit. I don’t even know why I’m wearing heels. Haha, because that’s all I have here to wear besides ballet slippers, flip flops and birks. Because all my other shoes are now in someone’s basement.